Fractured
by Beckydaspatz
Summary: "I drank too much, I had nightmares!" My take on the year without Sam, no winchest


**A.N. So I'm back, just finished watching S5 and I couldn't help thinking about Dean showing up at Lisas' and how messed up he was, and just his process of grieving that we didn't get to see in the year that Sam was gone (at least to the best of Deans' knowledge) other than the comment that he drank too much and had nightmares. This is my take on that. Thanks for reading, told from Deans' POV. God bless all of you.**

**Disclaimer: Doesn't belong to me, never has, never will. =(**

It starts off with the nightmares. The feeling of absolute terror and pain and darkness. The teeth and claws and knifes cutting into flesh and carving and slicing. And there is hurt and blood and everything hurts so _goddamn_ much that he doesn't even realize he is screaming until he gasps for sweet air, lungs expanding on the inhale. He's shivering, his body wracked with soundless sobs, teeth gritting and body straining against chains, pulled taut and embedded in his skin. Layer by layer, muscle and tissue and sinew and bone, and **God**, the blood. Rivers of red that haze his vision. And he knows, knows he is never getting out, never getting saved. No rest for the wicked.

All it takes is a soft whimper off to his side and his head whips up like it's on a pulley as his gaze locks with tortured green eyes. And he knows he should know this, should recognize the eyes staring at him, pleading. He shakes his head once, freeing his sight from the blood and realizes with a pull of air who he is looking at. "Sam." it hisses out of him as the eyes pinch in agony, face scrunching up in dread. His pain dissipates, staring at his baby brother suffering; everything fades away except for those eyes. Green orbs locking onto hazel, gripping sanity only by the others eyes, proof positive that they aren't alone. He wants to feel relieved that his brother is there, but Sammy is getting cut on too, worse than him, cut and torn and ripped at and suddenly Deans' pain looks like a trip to Disneyland. He rears up against the chains, ignoring the cut of metal on bone, choking on the scream ripping up from him. "SAMMY!"

The hand that shakes him awake is soft and gentle and most definitely not the man paws of his brother. The voice soothing him back into consciousness is quiet and subdued and feminine and he remembers in a split second where he is. "Shhh Dean. It's okay." Lisa. He's with Lisa. He knows she is just trying to placate him, but he has to grit his teeth against the wrongness of the statement. It is NOT okay, it may never be okay again. Her hand is rubbing light circles on his back, leaning across him to switch on the light on the bed stand. Deans blinks himself into awareness, shrugging her hands off as he sits up against the headboard. His hands are shaking when he runs them over his face. Lisa is still, patiently waiting for a sign that she can comfort him. It takes Dean several minutes, several long minutes filled with shudders and sighs before he lays his hand down palm up, quietly submitting. When her slender fingers curve around his wrist anchoring him, he can't help wishing it was his brother.

He doesn't really know what day it is, doesn't really care, as he takes a long swig from his beer. Fifth one today. He'll keep them coming till his conscience shuts the hell up. He looks at the clock to his right with bleary eyes, chasing the rest of his beer down with the end of the minute. Eleven seemed a little early to him to be drinking, but then again with Sam gone every hour was happy hour. He chuckles at the irony of that statement mumbling "Happy hour," Lisa doesn't say anything when she comes home, just eases the sixth? Seventh? Bottle out of his hands and replaces it with a water bottle. He is so numb he doesn't even realize until after several gulps that he is drinking a completely different substance. She meets his gaze as she sets herself down on a chair, silently sliding a sandwich to rest in front of him. Dean chews off a corner, trying to convey gratitude with a short glance. He is pretty sure he just looks wrecked. _'Sandwich.'_ the word is playing through his mind, sounding absolutely hysterical for some reason. "Sandwich." he tries it out on his tongue, speech thick with inebriation. She looks at him puzzled and so he says it again. "Sandwich. Sand. Wich." Why do the words sound so damn funny? "." he says it without realizing it at first, the flash of sorrow in Lisas' eyes the only indication that something is wrong. "Sam. Wich. Sam. Sam. Wich." He is laughing now, genuinely rocking in his chair as he laughs at his own joke. Note to self, don't drink on an empty stomach. "Dean," Lisa begins reaching out a hand to him, limb freezing in midair with uncertainty. "Sam. Sam. Sammy," when did his laughs sputter into sobs, he wonders as her arms encircle him.

His stomach growling wakes him up about half a second before his scream would have. He curses lightly under his breath, rolling over to see Lisa watching him with concerned eyes. "Didn't mean to wake you up." he grumbles, feeling so vulnerable under her loving watch. "You didn't." she sighs, tilting her head towards him as his stomach lets out another unpleasant gurgle. "Your stomach however..." there is a ghost of a smile on her lips and Dean nods expression sheepish. She splays her fingers against his stomach only for a second. "You hungry?" she asks as he manages a small nod. He can't remember the last time he actually craved food. "Anything special?' she asks, climbing out from the opposite side of the bed. He thinks for a minute, trying to determine what won't make him sick. A shrug is all he has to offer as she states "I know just the thing." with a slight grin. She returns twenty minutes later with a cheeseburger, bacon peeking out from under the bun and Dean feels one side of his mouth curl up in a smile.

Ben is in his peripheral vision and Dean wonders absently how longs he's been there. He mutes the T.V., shifting in his seat to face him. "What's up?" he asks, voice gruff with his constant grief. Ben stares at him, lifting one shoulder in a half shrug. "Thought maybe we could hang out." he mutters to the floor. Dean feels a flash of anger shoot through him. Hang out? Oh yeah they would just "hang out" Study for the spelling bee, gossip about girls and kumbayaya all these terrible feelings away. The kids face screwed up with regret briefly before feigning indifference at Deans' lack of an answer. Guilt sawed through him, it wasn't Bens' fault he was about seven feet too short to be keeping him company right now. He cleared his throat forcing a grin. "Poker or pool?" Ben chuckled softly, holding up a game controller. "PlayStation?' he suggested, holding out the object at arm's length. "Well that's my fourth favorite P activity." "What's the first?" Dean released a soft chuckle. "I'll tell you when you're older kid."

He can't believe he thought he could get over this. He's been getting better and feeling better and living again. Step by step, day by day, every breath a tiny bit less torturous than the one before. And it feels like a betrayal. To his brother, to his memory, to their life together. He was joking around with Ben, teasing really and then Ben huffed out "Jerk." and just like that he was run through. Heart bleeding in a jumbled mess on the floor. He made an excuse to go outside and check the mail and then he was in his baby, her engine roaring to life as he peeled away from his surrogate family. He didn't even look in the rear-view to check and see if he was being followed.

The only sound in the Impala as he rolls up into the cemetery is the subtle clunk of Legos rattling. The thud of the door closing is deafening as he stares at the patch of ground that swallowed his brother whole. His knees give out as he falls to the grass, hands fisting as he pounds the ground. As if it would do a damn thing, as if it would bring him back. Come on come on come on. The chant starts in his head as his hands pick up speed, slamming into the ground with force as he lifts and drops and lifts and drops each swing a little bit more violent than the last. "Come on." he whispers, voice drowned under the cacophony of his blows. "Come on." he groans, tearing at the grass now, tears blurring his vision. "Come on, come on, COME ON!" he roars, knuckles crashing against a rock as the dirt on his fingers mixes with the blood oozing from the cut. The sound he makes sounds like that of a wounded animal as he rears back his head and bellows to the heavens. "Please." The only answer to his plea is a hitch in the wind.

His phone is beeping…again. How many times is she going to call? He wonders propping up on one elbow to peer down at the electronic device. The name blinking at him from the missed call is not Lisa. He has been gone for four days and the first three she had called, her messages ranging from calm and collected, to worried, to downright pissed. And she had a right to be, she had been holding Dean together for months now, nudging him back to life and love and happiness, and then he just took off. Hell he remembers feeling that way about Sam, the kid had always had wandering feet, taking off for an hour, a day, or several. And the absence had always terrified Dean, set something alight in his gut that had him scouring every corner of the globe for that pain in the ass. The similarity should make him understand what Lisa is going through, what he is putting her through, but all it does is make him miss his brother that much more.

It's another day before he listens to the voicemail, cradling his phone against his ear as he hears the weary sigh of one Bobby Singer. "_Dean," _he begins, clearing his throat as he prepares himself for what Dean can guess is the ass chewing of all time. He is taken aback when the voice is quiet and course and full of sadness. _"Been trying to call you for a couple of days now…not that I'm your babysitter and you need to pick up just…" _there is a pause, a shuffle of sound on the other end. _"I already lost Sam. WE already lost Sam. I think you know what I'm saying boy. Don't do anything stupid ya idjit. Just don't." _The voice cuts off as Deans hands tremble. "Bobby," he all but growls, hand tightening on the phone, body rigid with tension. He listens to it once more, twice, three times. Every time he can hear everything unspoken from the older man. _I love you, you matter, and I __**can't**__ lose you too. _He takes a longshower, letting his grief run down the drain with the sullied water.

She pulls him into a fierce hug, eyes pricked at the corner with tears. It's about a minute before she is shoving him back. "Dean, I swear to God if you ever do that again. I didn't know if you were okay, or even alive and," she breaks off, catching his eyes. Hazel pools of anguish, regret shimmering just under the surface. Whether it's regret for her or for his brother she isn't sure. Her hands reach out for his, cupping his digits in her own. "I'm sorry." He mumbles head bowed. She forces a watery smile. "Next time, leave a note."

He covers the Impala in the garage, taking a particularly long moment to let his gaze linger on everything that made her _theirs._ He has to swallow hard when he sees Sams' laptop in the back seat, even harder when his gaze drops to Rubys' knife. He runs his hands along her almost in worship. Oh the stories his sweetheart could tell. Stories of daring and adventure, of being wounded and patching each other up, of singing along to the Bon Jovi and watching the stars. Of angels and demons and everything in between. Stories of Sam and Dean. He kisses the tips of his fingers laying them on the hood of his car. "Someday baby." He promises. _Someday._

He goes to football games and cheesy BBQs. He makes friends, he teaches Ben about mechanics, he makes love to Lisa, he watches movies, he laughs, he jokes, he buries his brother a piece at a time. He goes to work, he cooks dinner, and he helps the kid with his homework. He walks around the neighborhood hand in hand with her; he begins to make a new life, a good life. And everything feels good and right and healthy, he is dealing and moving on. He wakes up less from nightmares now and more from alarms, less to screaming and more to lips and hushed whispers and girlish giggling. He doesn't try to drown his sorrow anymore, choosing instead to have a beer with dinner and to pull himself together. He's gonna be okay, he realizes one day out of the blue. He can find a way to make things work without Sam. And it feels like the truth. Until his brother is standing in front of him and Dean reaches out and crushes them together, so damn happy, he can physically feel it bursting from him. And like a missing piece of the puzzle his heart fits back together and his meaning of a good life is redefined again.

**A.W. Sooo…tell me what you think? Please and thank you!**


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